Adrian Daniels: Son of Michael
by LillyABarr
Summary: Original story based on a character from an old Twilight Fanfic of mine. /u/1534088/LillyBarr
1. Lazar

His eyes fluttered open, glazed over and burning from days of sleep. How long had it been? _Six days_, the answer immediately came to him. Yes, it had to be. He could remember the intense pain that occurred with each sunrise and the cooling of his skin when the moon found its way into the sky. He felt all of it but could see nothing more than darkness behind his sealed eyelids. He could feel the changes deep in his veins as his body shifted and transformed into something new. _Into what?_ He wasn't completely sure. All he knew was a power filled his body and a burning so intense barreled from his throat to the very pit of his stomach. He was thirsty. Water. He needed water. No, that wouldn't be enough. Something more. _Wine?_ No, but he was getting closer. Something intoxicating; alluring; he needed more to quench this thirst.

He sat up quickly; sniffing the air. His hazy eyes darted around his surroundings. _What is this place?_ Snow capped mountains, desert sands, rolling hills, a thick forest off in the distance. Nothing matched. The only thing about this place that seemed consistent was the sky. It was a deep, terrifying purple and streaks of lightning continuously shot across the dark clouds; yet there was no thunder. Not a single rumble. It frightened him and filled him with excitement all at once. There was a veritable power here. Scanning the area, he spotted a lake near an opening of the forest. He stood, placing a foot forward to begin the long walk across the ever changing terrain. With one step, he found himself speeding; gliding; towards the far off watering hole. Within seconds, he stopped just inches from the..._water?_

Falling to his knees, he drove his hands through the surface of the thick, black liquid that stretched out before him. Except when he lifted his cupped hands, he saw it was not black. It wasn't even the pure, crystal blue that water often was. No, it was a deep, crimson red. It was blood. Thick, sticky, salty, warm blood. His throat burned as the smell drifted under his nose. Saliva filled his mouth and a yearning rumbled in his stomach. Bringing his filled, curved hands to his lips, he drank. He feasted. Plummeting his hands into the bloody lake over and over, gulping down its contents. The taste was nothing as he remembered of times that he'd cut a finger while sharpening his sword. When he'd place the wound to his mouth to stop the bleeding, it was bitter and salty. But this was different. It was sweet and filling and he could feel it cooling that nagging burn in his throat. He drank until his stomach felt full and the longing faded. He sat back and leaned against the trunk of a nearby tree. That's when he heard it for the first time; a sound that caused a smile to spread across his face and the hairs on his arms to stand with excitement. Screaming. The scream of someone being tortured. The sound of someone withering in agony. Except it wasn't the sound of just one, it was thousands. Possibly millions of petrified, painful screams.

That sound. That magnificent, torturous sound was a precious melody to his ears. It reminded him of the many souls who denied him as their king back in Romania. Their betrayals found them flogged repeatedly and starved. The useless peasants would silently fight the pain for days, sometimes even weeks, until it became too much to bear. That is when the screaming would begin. Delusional, blood curdling screams. It was sweet music to him then in Romania and it was sweet music to him now in..._Where am I?_

"Welcome, my child," a deep and musical voice came from behind him, pulling him from his thoughts, "I've waited a long time for your arrival. I was beginning to grow impatient and was tempted to come above to kill you myself." The man smiled sweetly as if he's just given the highest compliment known to man.

He considered the man who stood before him. He was tall and had the build of a powerful warrior. Golden waves of hair fell to his shoulders and his eyes were glowing yellow like the morning sun. His cheeks bones were high and his slender nose was placed perfectly in the center of his. He was picturesque; angelic; inhuman.

"What is this place and who are you to wish for my death?" his voice came out stern and fierce. He had always been a man of power and he did not mean to alter his mannerisms for the stranger who stood before him.

"Lazar," the lyrical voice spoke his name. "I am Earth's greatest fear. Many moons ago, I stood at the feet of the Messiah and worshipped without question. I surrendered my life in the heavens for a life of understanding that not everything arises out of love. Now I rule the underworld and feed off the doubts, hatred, and desire for power that comes from mankind. I feed on the soul's of men; men like you." He stood tall and straight as he introduced himself. "I am Lucifer and this, my son, is my paradise. This is Hell."

A smile touched Lazar's lips as he looked into the face of Satan himself, "And your wish for me, my lord?"

"To bring my wrath to the surface. You shall walk the Earth as a man who died but has returned to destroy the human race. You will feed from the innocent and the weak. You will drain them of hope, life, and blood. You will transform those who prove themselves worthy and you will use them to create my army. Your purpose, Lazar; my son, is chaos and devastation."

"What's in it for me?"

Anger filled Lucifer's eyes, darkening them to a fiery orange and his voice boomed in fury, causing the ground to shake beneath their feet, "For you? I owe you nothing! Yet, I offer you everything! You have the courage to question me? You are a fool!"

Lazar stood before the dark one, unfazed by his bout of anger. He'd slain rulers who threw bigger tantrums than this and when they were killed by his hand he sat upon their throne and ruled their people. Fear was not something he welcomed into his heart and he was not starting. "If I get nothing of this, find another soul to do your bidding. Please allow me to burn in your fire pits or freeze on your snow capped mountains. " he gestured behind him to the ever changing terrain. "I do not fear you, my lord. There must be something in it for me or I will stay here in your kingdom and in a matter of time, I swear I will rule in your place."

"Immortality," Satan growled.

"Well, that sounds promising." Lazar grinned and clasped his hands together in excitment, "Let's begin."


	2. Michael

Michael Kisslinger paced the pews of the large Romanian Monastery Church. His blue eyes became moist with tears and he ran his fingesr through his long, dark, and wavy hair as he tried to comprehend why the congregation would be asking this of him. He felt panic rising in the pit of his stomach as he listened to the people of the church argue amongst themselves. The vampires were taking over their village and it was believed that Michael was the only one who would be able to stop them. He had shown more strength and dedication to the church and God than anyone else in Sighisoara had. If anybody was able to call on the name of the Lord to protect their home, it would be Michael.

"Brother Kisslinger," an old man with squinty eyes and thin white hair touched Michael's arm, causing him to jump, "Brother, please, you are the only one. God smiles on the works you have done. He will protect you in this fight. Do not fear death because by his name, you cannot die."

"It's not death that I fear, sir" Michael smiled kindly at the frail, old man, "I fear my faith may not be strong enough. I fear giving into the temptation of immortality." Michael's blue eyes gazed up at the gothic ceiling, he whispered apologetically, "Forgive me, Father."

"Your faith is the strongest of us all. You will not fail. You cannot."

"Please, I'm begging you to understand. This is the job of a priest. Father Leonte should do this. It is his responsibility to the church, not mine. " Michael gazed out at the crowd with pleading eyes.

"The Father was taken by them before the sun rose. It's said that Lazar killed him himself." A small voice was barely heard about the noise from the villagers. Michael turned to look as the speaker pushed her way to the front of the church, her emerald eyes focused on him. Caterina Tudor found her way to him and pulled his shaking hands into hers. His eyes softened as he stared into her beauty. Reaching up, Michael traced his fingertips over her heart-shaped face then pushed a strand of light brown hair from her forehead. It pained him to see the worry that was shining in her once joyous, green eyes. This woman was to be his wife and if he did what was being asked of him, he may never get the opportunity to start a family with her. "Please, Michael, I love you so much and I don't want to lose you but you really are our only hope."

"Okay," he whispered and gently brushed his thumb against her lips, "Whatever you ask, my love."

Michael slowly made his way to the front of the church. He stood in the same place Father Leonte often did and bowed his head. His lips moved quickly as he silently prayed for guidance. The congregation stopped fussing over the dreadful situation their village was in and their eyes landed on the man who they believed could save them all. They waited patiently for him to address them; to tell them what they needed to do. After a few fleeting moments, he raised his eyes to the crowd. Panic took over the moment he saw the hope on all their faces. Michael couldn't bring himself to promise their families' safety when he wasn't sure if he could even survive a fight against these creatures. Tiny beads of sweat formed on his forehead. His heart began to pound painfully beneath his rib cage and his breathing became quick and raspy. Without warning, his feet began to move toward the exit at the back of the sanctuary. He ran with his hands over his ears, trying to block out the words of terror that now filled the church in loud echoes. Panic filled the occupants of the church as their only hope escaped through the heavy wooden doors.

Michael bursted through the doors and felt peace sweep over him instantly. Now that he was away from their expectant stares, he was able to think clearly. He had no intention of backing out on their request. He had already promised Caterina that he would try. He would never purposely let her down; he loved her too much to bear ever seeing disappointment in her eyes. With a deep breath, he looked to the north where a huge castle towered over the town; high in the hills. This is it, he thought and headed down the path that led to what was surely to be his demise.

****

The dark walls of the castle stood high above Michael. His panic returned as he adjusted the cross that hung around his neck and tightened his grip on the wooden stake in his hand. Somehow, he doubted these two items would protect him from the force of Lazar's coven. He feared no human would ever be of a threat to such formidable beings. Every fiber of him wanted to run back down the dirt road that led him here and never look back. The only thing that kept his feet moving forward was the echoing prayer that he whispered to the heavens. He did not pray that he would be able to get rid of the entire coven. He only prayed for the safety of Sighisoara. He prayed that his attempt to protect his people would have a strong enough effect on Lazar that he would leave.

Pushing with every bit of strength he had, Michael opened the large oak door of the castle and crept in as quietly as he could; although he had a feeling it wasn't quite enough. The entrance led to a colossal room with a staircase on each side and flaming, wooden torches lining the walls. He felt terrified as he glanced around for any signs of movement. It was a known fact that vampires only showed themselves at night. Here it was only a few minutes past midnight and the place appeared to be deserted.

Michael forced himself toward the stairs on the left side of the room. It was as good of a place to start as any. He wondered what he would do when he actually found one of the vampires. He gulped as he thought of how he was supposed to kill them. Nobody knew these creatures' weaknesses. It was argued that you were supposed to drive a wooden stake through their heart to pin them in the coffin where they slept. But for some reason, that seemed too naive.

Peering around the lofty banister at the end of the stairs, Michael heard a voice and footsteps. He felt his body freeze as he realized that he had no plan. He couldn't comprehend what had made him come to this place without a small army of his own to fight. A feeling of defeat washed over him before he even knew if a battle would break out or if they'd kill him before he even had an opportunity to defend himself. Human versus vampire. Michael really didn't like his odds. He stood frozen at the foot of the stone staircase, blue eyes wide with fear. His heart was pounding deep in his chest as he contemplated how much death would hurt.

Watching the stairs carefully, Michael waited for the vampire who would certainly bring forth his death. It seemed to him that time was moving in slow motion and refusing to speed up. It seemed like he was supposed to be analyzing every last second he had left to live. He questioned whether he should be looking for a weapon of some sort in case the stake in his hand failed to vanquish the creature. But no matter how much he considered an alternative defense, he just couldn't manage to take his eyes away from that top step. It seemed that a magnet was holding him in place despite his longing to move.

A pair of black boots appeared at the landing of the staircase and Michael's wait was over. He pulled his eyes away from the boots and up to take a look at the face that would most likely be the last thing he would ever see. The vampire wore black trousers and a thick chained belt. He wore no shirt over his hard chest and had shoulder length, black hair. Once Michael's eyes focused in on his face, he saw that he had yellow, cat-like eyes and was smiling widely, showing his fangs. He recognized him at once, not because he had seen him before but from the intense amount of fear that had been described to him that would come when a man stared into the eyes of Lazar's favorite son; Dragos.

"And just when I was about to go out for a snack," Dragos's voice hissed an echo down the stairs, "the snack comes to me."

"Lea..leave Sighisoara," Michael whispered, gasping for air to fill his panicked lungs. "Leave and spare the people of this town."

Dragos's smile grew wider. His bright yellow eyes seemed to dance as he studied Michael's weak, human stature. He wore a smug and deadly expression that sent chills straight through Michael. And then he moved. He moved so quickly down the stairs that it was difficult to tell if his feet had even touched the ground. He now stood nose to nose with Michael, staring into his eyes with a wicked gleam. His fangs were exposed and a low, continuous hiss was escaping lips.

"Make me," Dragos growled. "I dare you."

Feeling his time growing closer to its end, Michael lunged forward and drove the wooden stake straight through the vampire's heart. He felt Dragos's body grow momentarily limp before he heard the dark laugh begin to echo off the high, stoned walls of the castle. Michael released the stake and backed away quickly from the shaking body. He panicked as he realized the weapon had been as useless as he had guessed it would be. He began to run his hands along the wall behind him in a frenzy, looking for anything else that might be of use in this fight. His blue eyes stayed focused on Dragos as the vampire straightened up and cracked his knuckled before ripping the stake out of his body.

"You've been listening to too many scary stories, human." Dragos moved forward, his body healing with each step he took.

Michael shot a quick glance at the cross that dangled from his neck then answered, "I will not rest until I find a way to kill you. I will not stop until your entire coven is dead."

"Good luck! We're already dead." Dragos cackled then flew forward, throwing Michael against the wall.

The wall rumbled under the unnatural force of the two bodies that collided into it. Michael groaned in pain and terror, but Dragos's smile never faltered as he stood there pinning the human to the wall. Michael's breath came in quick, struggled gasps mixing eerily in the air with the vampire's devious laughter. He couldn't see any honest escape from this. He'd already tried the stake and he hadn't brought any other weapons. The walls seemed free of anything other than the torches that gave off the only light in the enormous stone room. The only thing Michael had left was the long, silver cross that hung from the chain around his neck. His hand shook as he reached up to touch it. Dragos's yellow eyes stared hungrily at him. Before Michael had time to think of any alternative, two things occurred at once. Dragos sank his pointed teeth into the base of Michael's neck causing an intense, fiery pain to shoot through him. At the same time, without hesitation, he ripped the cross from its chain and plunged it through the vampire's throat. A piercing shriek echoed through the room and Michael stumbled back, falling to the ground as he was released. He gazed in unbelief as Lazar's son stood clawing at the glistening jewelry protruding from under his chin. He observed that the skin around the cross had turned an ashy gray and a thick, black liquid was pouring from the wound.

Dragos stumbled around the staircase attempting to pull the silver from his throat. His cries were deafening. Michael grimaced as he pushed himself to his feet, eyes on the vampire. Backing into the wall, he turned and removed a torch and pointed it in the direction of the flaying body to gain a better look. He wasn't assured if the cross was killing the vampire prince or if it had simply slowed him down.

"You son of a..." A gurgled hiss escaped from Dragos's lips. "How dare you!"

Michael's blue eyes widened as he saw Dragos had finally pulled the crucifix from his neck and shook his hand where the silver had burned him. He watched as the black blood trickled down the front of his pale chest and dripped into a puddle on the floor. It seemed Dragos was recovering from the unexpected pain and had regained his composure. His eyes widened more as he saw the movement of two more vampires at the top of the stairs. One had short, blonde hair and wore a patch over one of his yellow eyes. He had a slim build and one side of his mouth was turned upward in a lopsided smirk. The other was tall and bald. He was thin and pale with almost skeletal features. He wore a serious expression as he watched Dragos recover and move closer to his prey. Michael knew the second of them was Lazar and that his chances of survival had just been eliminated.

Michael held the torch in front of himself in defense as Dragos made headway. He whimpered as he attempted to keep his mind focused on the fight in front of him instead of what death would feel like. Unexpected pain shot through his body. He crumpled to the floor as he howled in agony. He heard a dreadful snapping sound as his ribs cracked. He lifted his eyes to see Dragos was equally shocked. The dark haired vampire spun around and glared in the direction of the one with the patched eye.

"Lucian," Dragos growled, lowering himself into a slight crouch, "keep your witchcraft out of this! He's mine!"

"You seemed to be having trouble finishing him off yourself," Lazar spoke in a soothing, raspy voice while Lucian grinned deviously at his side. "But if you think you can handle him then, please, my son, continue."

"Let the mute speak for himself, father!" Dragos snapped, his yellow eyes darted back and forth between his companions and the weak human cowering against the wall.

Lucian's grin widened. He ran his tongue across one of his fangs then poinedt in the direction of Michael just as another loud crack filled the air. Michael screamed as the pain blazed through his side. Dragos moved angrily toward the staircase, hissing profanities. He stopped mid stride as Lucian lifted his hand, wiggling a finger back and forth to make it clear that was a bad idea as another snap issued from Michael's frail body. A deep roar rose from Drago's chest; he began to walk up the steps with a deadly determination in his eyes to put an end to Lucian's games.

"Dragos," Lazar spoke softly, stepping between him and Lucian, "you may want to reconsider your human. He seems to be planning an escape."

Michael was sliding himself up the wall into a standing position and his eyes were focused intently on the massive wooden doors. The torch shook in his hand as he was trying to steady himself, but the pain from his broken ribs kept him from moving quickly enough to flee. Dragos turned slowly towards him and within second was flying down the stairs. In a pain, Michael used the only defense he felt he had left. He was sure it would only temporarily distract the vampires, but he hoped it would give him just enough time to get away. With a widespread swing of his arm, he threw the torch straight into Dragos's face.

Dragos's stunned expression disappeared behind a bright yellow flame that immediately engulfed his entire body. Lazar and Lucian stared in shock as the pale skin slowly melted from Dragos's bones. For a brief moment, he stood there as nothing more than bones then his skeleton began to crumble into ashes. Michael glanced back in terror and relief as he stumbled out the castle doors and into the fresh air of Sighisoara.

Michael found it difficult to stay on his feet as his body moved as quickly as the pain would allow him to down the path back to the church. His ribs ached from whatever magic the blonde vampire used against him to shatter his bones. A burning seemed to be seeping through his entire body; the most intense pain from the bite on his neck. He feared that he may be transforming into one of them. The rumors were that he had six days before a change occurred if Dragos had extract venom from his fangs when he'd bitten Michael. Six days before his heart would stop while his body continued to move through this world. Six days before the bloodlust began and he'd kill all those he'd been trying to protect. Six days to find a cure or to take his own life.


End file.
